


Saved By the Milk

by NachtGraves



Series: Errant Errands-verse [2]
Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, fuyuhiko has a karinto problem, hajime stares a lot, no despairs, somewhat willing kidnapping technically
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 05:21:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NachtGraves/pseuds/NachtGraves
Summary: Hajime has some things to grab after school for his mom. No problem. But then he runs into a familiar face and things go a little sideways.





	Saved By the Milk

**Author's Note:**

> It's 4am I prob should have waited until after sleeping to post because there's prob a lot of typos and issues but I was too excited to wait to post this. So.
> 
> This is basically dedicated/in thanks to @dozens who has contributed a lot of fodder for this apparent verse. My dude. You have no idea how much reading through that comment thread has lifted my spirits from time to time and heavily motivated me to write a continuation.
> 
> Hit me up on [tumblr](http://nachtgraves.tumblr.com)!
> 
> edit 8/7: I knew I should have proofread after a nap. Fixed up a little thing at the end because Hajime shouldn't have known Fuyuhiko's name until the last two paragraphs.

The bell rings, signaling the end of the school day, as well as the week. Hajime sighs in relief and packs his things, saying goodbye to his classmates as he leaves the classroom, sending a quick text to Chiaki.

> Sent: Nanami Chiaki  
>  [Go ahead without me. I promised my mom I’d pick up some things for her. See u tomrow?]
> 
> Received: Nanami Chiaki  
>  [Okay, see you later.]

Come high school, Chiaki and Hajime were finally separated, Chiaki going to an elite, basically celebrity filled, academy because of her fame in gaming at an international level while Hajime went to a normal public school that his family could afford. Their schools were fairly close in distance, however, and Hajime’s school was on the way home for Chiaki, so it was easy for her to meet up with him and then the two could walk home together, often times going to one of their houses and doing homework together if they had no other responsibilities.

As Hajime leaves school grounds, he turns the opposite direction of his neighborhood and heads towards the shopping district, pulling up the text his mother had sent him earlier with a list of things she needed. The items range from cuts of meat to toilet paper to a specific shower gel Hajime knows is only sold in a small boutique next to a family-owned bakery that sells traditional Japanese sweets and snacks.

So Hajime sets off, mentally mapping out his route. First, he’ll get what he can from the supermarket his mother frequents for weekly groceries, then stop by the pharmacy for the cough medicine for his father since it’s around the time he gets sick and  _everyone_  knows it but the man himself, and finish off at the boutique before heading home for the weekend. Simple and straightforward, no way to mess up or forget anything.

And it goes as smoothly until he’s leaving the boutique, calling out goodbye to the owners over his shoulder, and crashing into someone exiting the bakery. Hajime is lucky enough not to drop any of his bags, but whoever he bumped into does not have that kind of luck.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” Hajime says, setting his bags down to help pick up the other person’s purchases. “I wasn’t looking where I was going,” he continues, going to his knees to gather the various plastic packaging. He pauses, holding two of the items and reaching for a third.  _That’s a lot of karinto_.

The person still hasn’t spoken and Hajime only has a view of their black leather shoes that look rather on the small end of the scale. There’s a heavy tension in the air he tries to appease by gathering the last of the fallen karinto and forcing laughter, “Fond of karinto?”

When he finally looks up, the karinto in his arms fall right back onto the floor and his jaw tries valiantly to follow.  _Oh god it’s him_.

The boy from all those nights ago is standing before him. Hajime feels his skin heat up as the first thing his eyes fall on as he takes in the equally stunned boy in front of him is the other boy’s parted lips.

“Uh, hi. Hello,” Hajime stutters. And then he looks down and sees the fallen karinto. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I—You—Sorry!” Going back to the floor to pick up the snacks is a relieving reprieve for the few seconds before the blond boy bends down as well and they both reach for the same karinto package at the same time. “Sorry!” Hajime doesn’t think he’s ever apologized so many times in such a short time frame.  _The earth can swallow me whole anytime now_ , he thinks, dying a little more inside from embarrassment with every passing second.

The blond grabs the last of the karinto packages and they both stand up. Hajime can’t bear to look at the other boy’s face for fear of spontaneously combusting, but curiosity is a damning thing. It’s the middle of the day, the sun is pointedly shining down on every available surface and Hajime  _needs_  to know what the face of the lips and body that’s snuck into his dreams the last week or so looks like under decent lighting. Can’t get more decent than the sun on a clear day.

And he was not mistaken, those eyes truly are a pale, almost luminous, gold. A small mole Hajime didn’t notice that one night rests just under the corner of the mouth that’s set in a seemingly unaware scowl. The freckles dusting the ridge of his nose are much more prominent than in dim alley lighting and Hajime has to stop himself from reaching out to count them.

“Um, here” Hajime thrusts the karinto in his hands to the boy. “I—uh. Um.”  _Why won’t he say anything?_  Hajime’s not sure if words are even coming out of his mouth at this point or if his mouth is just opening and closing as he tries, and fails, to get his bearings.

Just when it seems the blond is about to say something, a female voice that Hajime vaguely recognizes interrupts.

“Young master!” The voice is quickly followed by its owner, the girl with the sword from the same night – and she still has her sword, and looks ready to draw it – appears seemingly out of nowhere. Red eyes, just as startling in the daylight as they were at night narrow on Hajime. He barely has any time to react before there’s a wooden sword coming for him.

“Peko, stop!” the blond yells out, but the sword has already been swung and all Hajime can do is jump back, hands raised. The only thing that saves Hajime from being whacked is his shopping and the blond’s karinto, the bags acting as a shield. But while he is not unconscious or sporting a massive bruise and broken bones, he is covered in milk from a carton that apparently exploded from the force of the attack.

_If that swing had hit **me** …_

Hajime will take being covered in milk, even if he does need to buy all the things that didn’t survive. Milk, is on that list. And there’s karinto on the floor again.

“Gross…” Hajime grumbles, holding his hands out and watching as drops of cold milk drip to the floor. His shirt is plastered to his skin and he may throw up from the concentrated scent of milk.

The blond’s eyes are wide and Hajime knows he looks like an idiot, not that he could have helped it. Of all the ways he could have (and has, if he’s being honest) imagined of meeting the blond again, being covered in milk and knocking the blond’s karinto to the ground  _three times_  was not one of them.

“Peko, get the car.” The terrifying swordswoman seems to hesitate before she bows and runs off, but not before casting Hajime a warning glare that chills him more than the milk.

The blond looks after her, and then to Hajime. “Are you busy?”

Hajime blinks. “Uh, no not really. I was just running errands on my way home, but now…” He’s really not looking forward to the walk home covered in drying milk. A trickle of cold milk slithers down chest. It’s not a pleasant feeling.

The blond runs a hand through his hair and Hajime watches the movement, transfixed. His palm tickles with the phantom memories of how the short strands felt under his own fingers. A phone buzzes, and the blond reaches into his pocket, pulls the device out to glance over it briefly before tapping a few times and putting it away. He bends back down to pick up his karinto, putting them, finally, safely in his bag, and then turns around, walking away. Hajime doesn’t know what to do, figures that’s the end of the interaction, and is about to turn around and head his own way, disappointed, but a sharp  _tsk_  stops him.

“Where the hell are you going? Follow me,” the blond orders, face set in a scowl. Hajime, concerned for his wellbeing, nods mutely and follows, soaked in milk and holding ruined grocery items in his arms.

The reach the end of the little street where a sleek black car is parked against the sidewalk. Peko stands at attention by the back doors holding something in her hands. The something turns out to be a towel that Peko hands over to Hajime, taking his purchases and school bag in exchange. The blond’s already siding into the car, moving all the way to the other end, seatbelt buckled and legs crossed. Hajime dries off as much as he can with the towel, but there’s not much he can do about the smell and sticky clothes. Still, he could have had to walk all the way home while still soaked.

“Uh, thank you,” he says once he’s finished. He folds the towel back up and looks to Peko, unsure what to do with the towel now. She wordlessly takes it from him, but he doesn’t get his bags back. He doesn’t have the chance to ask about them though, because as soon as Peko walks past him to the back of the car, the blond huffs. “Great. Now get in.”

Hajime blinks. “Uh.”

The blond tsks in impatience. “Get in the damn car, if you make me repeat myself again…”

Hajime slides into the car immediately. Peko closes his door and he fumbles trying to buckle himself in under the blond’s piercing gaze. He manages to click the buckle. The interior of the car is all butter soft black leather. In the driver’s seat is a man with buzzed hair, black sunglasses, and a suit. Hints of a colorful tattoo peek out from the bit of his exposed neck. Peko’s in the passenger seat. She glares at Hajime through the rearview mirror.

Hajime wonders if he should try and send a text to Chiaki or his parents in case he mysteriously disappears.

“Where to, young master?” the driver asks.

“Home. Peko, call ahead and have things prepared for our guest,” the blond answers. He pauses briefly at ‘guest’ where his eyes flicker to Hajime before turning back to the front where Peko’s turned around to speak to him directly.

“Understood, young master,” she answers and turns back around. As the car pulls into the street, a partition of heavily tinted glass slides up into place, separating the front of the car from the back. Hajime would bet it’s also soundproof. He glances over and the blond is staring out the window, cheek in palm.  _I need to call him something other than ‘the blond’._

“Uh, thanks for the towel,” Hajime says, breaking the stiff silence.

The blond – the young master? The clearly dangerous but ridiculously attractive boy his own age? – tsks. “You said that already.”

“Oh. Uh. Yeah.” Hajime wants to dissolve into the leather seats. He falls silent again, tries to distract himself by looking out the window to see where they’re going. Where the blond lives. Hajime has no idea why he’s in the car and going with them and self-preservation is all that’s holding his tongue.

He can’t help sneaking glances over to the other end of the car though. His eyes trace over the blond’s profile, associating each catalogued feature to that night. The pert nose dusted with freckles he can see much more clearly. The fuzzy texture of his hair broken by the lines shaved into the sides, a contrast of hard and soft in both look and feel. His lashes look even longer from the side, and Hajime remembers the way they look fanned against pink cheeks. The tips of his ears a matching hue. And the golden eyes looking right back at him, thin brows angled down in a glare.  _Shit_.

“What’re you looking at?”

Hajime averts his eyes, but it’s too late, so he scrambles for something to say: “You.”

He immediately wants to bash his head into the window.  _Way to fucking go._

The blond’s scowl falters in a moment of surprise, like even he’s stunned by Hajime’s idiocy. But he doesn’t say anything, just rolls his eyes with a huff and resumes looking out his window. Hajime, even though he’s already proved himself an idiot, glances over once more and has to tear his eyes away from an ear that is shaded red.

Hajime keeps his eyes resolutely focused out the window for the rest of the drive.

They eventually stop in front of a large gate. Hajime tries to see as much as he can, but all there is, is a large wall that wraps around the area. The gates open after a moment, though, and they continue on until they come to a complete stop in front of a large, traditional house. The doors open, Hajime’s by the driver and the blond’s by Peko. The blond gets out without pause and Hajime follows his lead. Outside, Hajime takes in more of his surroundings and is completely floored. He has no idea how big the area is, but it’s easily larger than the school grounds.

The blond and Peko head inside and Hajime scurries to follow after. No way is he being left behind alone here. They remove their shoes in the genkan and walk through the house. Hajime can’t help staring at every little thing as they make their way to wherever, the blond in the lead and Peko two steps behind him. The interior of the house is not as traditional as the exterior. While the floor is made of tatami mats, and many of the walls are the usual mix of shoji and fusama panels, they pass by some modern wooden doors and walls of plaster instead of paper. The architect of the house made an odd but smooth blend of the traditional and modern. Hajime finds himself impressed.

As they walk down the halls, Hajime isn’t surprised they run into various people considering the size of the house. It would have been odder had there been no one else. Everyone they come across are dressed like the driver in some sort of suit, whether man or woman, and hold a sense of danger around them. But, each person they pass by pauses to bow at some length and say, “Welcome back, young master.” Hajime ducks his head at inquisitive stares, hurrying to keep up.

They eventually arrive at a room with a wooden door. Peko opens the door before the blond can get to it, and Hajime follows the blond inside.

Peko doesn’t follow, instead she bows low. “I shall gather the needed items, young master.”

“Yeah, thanks, Peko,” the blond nods. Peko leaves and the door swings shut, leaving Hajime alone with the blond and he has no idea what to do about that. So he distracts himself by looking around the room. It quickly becomes apparent that it’s a bedroom: a desk and chair, a TV, a futon that wasn’t put away and still rumpled from being slept in. There’s not a whole lot of personal affects, just the casual messiness of being lived in. There’s another door on the adjacent wall left slightly ajar, revealing what’s likely a bathroom.

“Take off your clothes.” The order is sudden and Hajime’s gaze snaps to the blond in shock, heat filling his face. And other parts of his body.

The blond frowns before his cheeks take on a pink tone. He looks away, crossing his arms over his chest and clears his throat. “Go take a shower, bathroom’s over there. You can leave your clothes here, I’ll have someone take care of them and get you something not soaked in dried milk. I’ll be back.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.” The blond leaves the room and Hajime quickly strips and folds his clothes as best he can and sets them on the desk chair, putting his phone, wallet, and keys on top of the pile. It’s strange being completely naked in a stranger’s room, so Hajime hurries into the bathroom.

Considering the traditional décor and structure of the rest of the house, Hajime is surprised to see that the bathroom is much more modern with glass, marble, and steel. He showers quickly even though he really wishes he could relax and enjoy the best water pressure he has ever experienced. His only hesitation comes from using the soap and shampoo in the stall but he doesn’t want the smell of milk to linger.

The blond’s soap and shampoo are nothing special, but in the confined space, the scents so strong, it’s far too easy for Hajime to add the scents to his gradually more defined memory of the night in the alley, to fine-tune other images his mind has scrolled through. He ignores his body’s response to the images and memories.

Hajime turns the water cold to force himself to get out and efficiently subdue his body. He dries off with one of the towels neatly folded on the side and wraps it around his waist before going back out.

The blond is nowhere to be seen and there’re no clothes for Hajime to put on. His belongings are missing. He’s not about to go wandering around the house in just a towel, so he looks around the room more. Wandering to the desk, he finds sees a closed laptop and a pile of what looked like textbooks and assigned readings Hajime was familiar with. In fact, a lot of the books were ones Chiaki had, Hajime recognizing them from when he’s helped Chiaki with the occasional assignment.

There’s nothing else to really note on the desk. Hajime would be lying if he said he wasn’t sort of hoping to find some clue to the blond’s name. Or just who he could be, in general. Clearly, he was important, or, at the very least, the son of someone important.

Hajime looks around the room more, but there’s really not much to see. So he pulls out the chair and takes a seat since it looks like he’s going to be waiting for…whatever’s going to happen to him. He hopes he can at least let his parents know that he’s okay. For now at least.

To put his mind off things, Hajime grabs one of the books on the desk, remembering when Chiaki had been working on an essay for it. He’s in the middle of skimming through the first few chapters when the door opens and the blond’s returned.

“What’re you doing?”

Hajime fumbles with the book as he sets it back down and gets to his feet. “Sorry, I was, uh, just reading. A friend had to write an essay about this one a little while ago.”

The blond stares at him and Hajime remembers that he is only clothed in a towel and in his rush to get up, it had slipped a bit. His hands go to the hem to fix it, and when he looks back up, the blond’s eyes are aimed at Hajime’s hips.

“Oh, my bag.” It’s in the blond’s arms. Hajime’s comment removes the blond’s gaze from Hajime’s body and Hajime has some mixed feelings about that.

“Yeah. Your clothes are being washed and Peko’s finding things you can wear in the meanwhile.” The blond tosses the bag to Hajime who goes through it and sees that other than his clothes and shopping, all his belongings are accounted for. He pulls out his phone and sees a text from his mom asking where he is.

Hajime looks up at the blond, hesitating on his words.

The blond crosses his arms and glares. “What?”

“Could I let my parents know where I am? Well, that I’m okay, anyway.”

The blond nods, even as he continues to glare. Hajime taps out a quick response saying he got held up. He didn’t say when he’d be back, mostly because he wasn’t sure. It sounded like he was going to be allowed to leave eventually, but.

After the text is sent and he receives a quick reply saying he should take care, Hajime puts his phone back in his bag. “Uh, so. What am I doing here, anyway?” he asks.

The blond looks at him like he’s an idiot. Hajime thinks that it was a pretty valid question.

“We inconvenienced you and are cleaning up the mess,” the blond answers like it was obvious.

Hajime’s still just confused. “You really don’t have to. I would have just gone home—”

“Even though all your shopping was ruined?”

Hajime shrugs. “Okay, so I would have probably just gone and rebought everything I was supposed to get, and it would have been annoying—” not to mention expensive—“but not much I could do about it.”

“Well just deal with it. You’re stuck here for a while so make yourself comfortable.” The blond goes to the desk and opens a drawer, and pulls out a package of karinto. Hajime just stares as the blond plops down on the left out futon and opens the package, grabbing one of the sweet treats and munching on it.

“Anyone ever tell you, you stare a whole fucking lot?”

“Not really,” Hajime replies. Usually, there aren’t confusing and attractive blond boys to be staring at.

The blond huffs. “Quit skulking and sit down. You’re going to have to wait for clothes.”

Hajime does as ordered, because he’s learned that most of the blond’s statements are just orders he expects to be followed through. He sits down on the futon, leaving a respectable distance between himself and the blond who continues to snack on his apparent surplus of karinto.

“Jesus, you really need to learn to stop fucking staring at people. What do you want?” the blond erupts.

Hajime’s eyes widen as he falls back a bit. “Sorry. I just, I’m confused? And still not entirely convinced this isn’t all just some weird hallucination? Or your, uh, Peko’s sword actually did hit me and I’m actually lying unconscious in the middle of the street dreaming all of this.”

The blond quirks a brow and snorts. “Not a dream. If I hadn’t said anything and Peko had landed her hit, you wouldn’t just be unconscious.” Hajime doesn’t know what to say to that. It seems like the blond wasn’t expecting a response either because he carries on, “Anyway, quit staring. It’s uh, just quit it. It’s weird.” He looks away from Hajime and practically shoves the last bite of the karinto he was working on into his mouth. The action just makes Hajime stare at the crumbs around the blond’s mouth and the way his cheeks redden the longer and harder he stares.

“Jesus, if you keep staring at my mouth… Fuck it.” And Hajime has a lapful of blond and forceful and a mouth pressed against his. It takes Hajime a second to process before he reacts with a moan and gripping the blond’s hips, drawing him firmly into his lap.

 _I’m never going to be able to eat karinto again_ , Hajime thinks as the blond deepens the kiss.

The blond’ mouth is even better than Hajime remembers. Hands grip at his still damp hair and Hajime slides one hand up under the blond’s shirt and the other down to cup his ass. The blond grinds down into Hajime and Hajime has to move his mouth to the blond’s neck to muffle a low, long moan. He trails open mouthed, wet kisses along the blond’s neck, up to his reddened ear. The blond grabs Hajime’s face and redirects him back to the blond’s panting mouth. Hajime is only happy to comply.

Eventually, the blond pulls back, his mouth swollen, bruised red, and pouty. A tongue darts out to sweep over a bottom lip that Hajime wants back between his own. Hajime’s naked but for a towel with a gorgeous blond way out of his league in his lap that he’s made out with twice now.

“I’ve been thinking about you for  _days_  and I don’t even know your name,” Hajime blurts. In all fairness, most of the blood in his body has been redirected down south and with his lack of clothing it’s very easy to verify.

The blond huffs out a small startled laugh. His cheeks redden but his smile is smug.

A knock on the door startles them. The blond leaps away, shoving Hajime onto the floor in the process. Hajime quickly scrambles up to his feet and does his best to fix the towel around his waist and adjust himself, willing his body to calm down faster. From the corner of his eye, he sees the blond fix his own clothes and the sight of his dark, bruised lips undoes most of the progress Hajime’s made with his own body. Not that there was much progress to be had, but the point still stands.

There really is no hiding that something happened between them, however. If that’s how the blond looks, Hajime can only imagine his own appearance.

The blond clears his throat and fixes his tie once more before going to the door and opening only enough to look out and speak with whoever is on the other side.

“These were the most readily available, young master, apologies for the delay. The shopping has been replaced and his clothes have been put to wash and will be ready within two hours,” comes Peko’s steady voice. She pauses and her tone takes on a hard edge, hushed, but Hajime still catches her words. “Is everything alright, young master? If he has done something, I can easily take care—”

The blond hurries over Peko. “Everything’s fine, thanks, Peko. I can take those, uh, you can, there’s a, have a car ready. We’ll be out soon.”

Peko’s answering affirmation is halted and suspicious, but she apparently leaves as the blond reaches out and is given an armful of items and closes the door again. In his hands are what appear to be neatly folded clothes that the blond throws over to Hajime, who barely manages to catch them.

“Get dressed. You’re going home.”

“But these—”

“Unless you’re deaf and didn’t hear her, your clothes’ll take a while so use these. I’ll have your clothes sent to you later, you should be getting home.”

It’s a dismissal if Hajime’s ever heard one so he slips on the clothes while the blond has his back turned to him. The clothes fit him well, a simple t-shirt and jeans that are his size. He tries to dry off his hair some more and leaves the towel around his neck.

“Oh quit looking like kicked puppy,” the blond grouses. He stomps over to Hajime and yanks at the ends of the towel pulling Hajime down with a startled yelp that is cut off by a very pointed and firm kiss that is far too brief. Hajime chases after the blond when the kiss ends and flushes as he comes to his senses.

The blond steps away, taking the towel with him and hanging it over the desk chair before going to the door. Hajime grabs his bag and followed after. They walk through the house in silence, people stopping to greet the blond like they had when they first arrived. The blond acknowledges everyone with brief nods but continues steadily on his way, Hajime close behind.

When they get back to the front door, Hajime sees that they’ve also replaced his shoes with new ones that are not milk stained. Waiting out front is another sleek black car with Peko standing by.

Hajime is directed into the car, is told that his shopping is in the back. He isn’t even asked for his address, in fact, the man driving, a different man from earlier, already knows it and only asks if it is accurate before he slides into the driver’s seat. The partition is up so Hajime can’t even talk to him. He’s very concerned and suspicious, but the blond leans into the car and all of Hajime’s attention goes to him.

And all thought is shoved away as a soft mouth presses against his, quick but firm enough to not have been imagined. Hajime can’t help his grin.

The blond rolls his eyes, looking somewhere off to the side, and his cheeks and ears gain even more color. “Get home without crashing into people.”

The drive home is silent but Hajime’s fine with that, his mind full of thoughts ofthe blond. And dammit, he still never got his name. He gets home and the driver beats him to the trunk and hands over shopping bags that Hajime peeks into and sees is everything he had bought but not covered in milk.

“Could you thank, er, him for me?” Hajime rushes to ask before the driver can disappear and drive off like he appears to immediately intend to do.

The man quirks a brow but nods and the sleek black car disappears down the street. Hajime’s greeted by his mother when he enters the house.

“Where have you been all day?” she asks, appearing from the kitchen. She takes in his apparel and frowns. “And what happened to your clothes?”

Hajime doesn’t really know what to say. “I, uh, ran into someone and got into a bit of an accident involving milk spilling everywhere.” He wants to laugh at the bizarreness of the completely true statement.

His mother gives him a look but sighs. “Whatever is going on with you, just don’t get caught up in something dangerous. Focus on schoolwork and stay safe. Now, put everything away, dinner’s almost ready and your father needs those cold meds.”

While putting the groceries away, Hajime finds a packet of karinto that has, scribbled in a thick black marker, ‘Fuyuhiko’ written across the packaging.

 _Fuyuhiko_. Hajime is going to be thinking of the name for ages, he can already tell.


End file.
